


Do not stand above my grave

by eringeosphere



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Meredith lives, Prompt Fill, and refuses to give up on seeing Peter again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2018-11-12 14:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eringeosphere/pseuds/eringeosphere
Summary: In the end, Ego doesn't put a tumour in Meredith's head, and hires the Ravagers to pick Peter up so he doesn't have to return to Earth himself.Everyone thinks Meredith is crazy when she tells them that Peter was taken by aliens. 24 years later the Chitaui drop out of the sky in New York, and Meredith packs her suitcase. She's got an appointment to make with the Norse God of the Thunder.For a prompt on the kinkmeme.





	1. Do not stand above my grave and weep

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the first line of the poem by the same title by Mary Elizabeth Fry. I thought it somewhat fitting.
> 
> Original prompt ran like this:  
> http://guardian-kink.livejournal.com/2727.html?thread=1847463#t1847463
> 
> Ego couldn’t bear to give Meredith Quill cancer, so instead he hired the Ravengers to pick up Peter so that he would never have to return to Earth again. But same as in the movie, Yondu Undonta doesn’t deliver him as planned. He can’t return him to Earth either, as much as Peter asks to get taken back to his mother, because if he does Ego will find him.
> 
> So Yondu convinces Peter that someone dangerous is after him, and if he returns him to Earth it will get both him and his mother killed. Peter doesn’t always trust Yondu, but he does believe him about this, so the reason he never returns home is he wants to keep his mother safe. 
> 
> But Meredith Quill has plans of her own. 
> 
> She knows Peter’s father wasn’t human, and she knows he’s the one that took her son from her. Everyone thinks she’s crazy, until the events of the Avengers takes place, and people learn the truth. Meredith goes to the Avengers and begs for their help in trying to find her son. Small universe that it is, Thor recognizes the name Peter Quill as one of the Guardians that held an Infinity Stone, and agrees to take her to find him.

In one multiverse, whilst Ego lies next to a sleeping Meredith Quill on his last evening on Earth, he carefully brushes his hand over her head and implants the seed that, one day, will eventually become an inoperable tumour that will end her life. 

In this version of the universe, Meredith is not quite as deeply asleep. She stirs, rolls over to face the being she loves and smiles at him, slow and sweet, capturing his mouth with a gentle kiss. Ego meets her blue eyes, framed by moonlight and star shine and can’t bring himself to take the final step. 

“What’cha thinking about darlin?” she asks.

“You.” Ego answers, honestly. “Wishing I didn’t have to leave.”

Meredith smiles at him. “But you’ve got things to be doin, out there in the stars.”

Ego nods, once. If he stays here much longer, he’ll never want to leave, and then - what? His purpose for life, his Expansion will be rendered useless.

“Don’t worry.” he says, and slides a hand down to her stomach. “I’ll meet our child someday. I swear it.”

Meredith hums, content, and lays her head back down on his chest. The two of them lie together until morning, before Ego leaves. He never visits Earth again.

*****

Meredith had known that her child’s father wouldn’t be coming back for a while - the universe is a big old place, after all. Her family isn’t all that impressed when her pregnancy starts showing, but she bears their grumbling disapproval of the man who’d gotten her pregnant and disappeared with grace. Her Da had asked her, quiet and serious, if having the child had been what she’d wanted, and when she’d told him yes, he’s nodded and started digging the old cot out from the attic, never mind that there were still six months yet to go. 

She flat out ignores the whispers that follow her around their small hometown - gossip will fade as soon as the next scandal turns up. 

Then Peter is born and Meredith falls completely in love for the second time in her life.

*****

Peter is an energetic child, no sooner crawling than walking, and no sooner walking than running headlong into trouble. Meredith spends so much time chasing after Peter that she scarcely notices the years passing.

It’s an innocent question asked by Peter that makes her truly stop and realise how much time has gone by since her space man left. He’s five, going on six, and the two of them are lying in the long grass out in one of old Mackenzie’s fields one weekend. The spring sun is bright and the warmth is a lazy blanket draped over the two of them. Meredith has a picnic basket and her Walkman and the two of them listen to her music, singing along to their favourites.

The tape winds through to the end and Peter starts fiddling with the cord of the headphones. Meredith smiles to herself. Her son never could sit still if there was something troubling him.

“What is it, baby?” she asks.

“Ain’t nothing.” Peter says, too quickly. Meredith meets his eyes, the same colour as his granddaddy’s, and waits. Peter only holds her gaze for a few seconds before he looks down at his lap, still twisting the cord around and around between his fingers.

He stays quiet a moment longer, before taking a breath and blurting out “Did my dad leave cause he didn’t love us?”

Oh. Meredith immediately wraps her arms around Peter. “Oh honey, no. Your dad promised he’d see you someday, and he wouldn’t have said so if he didn’t mean it. What’s brought this on, all of a sudden?”

Peter wraps his arms tight around her middle. He mumbles something into her chest. 

“I didn’t hear that, baby. You mind repeating that again.”

“I heard Danny and Jake’s moms talking at the pick up outside of school last week. They said that dad musta been a good for nothing drifter to ‘ave made you have me and he musn’t have loved us else he woulda stayed. And there ain’t no one who couldn’t love you, so it must been me he didn’t love.”

Meredith sighs. “They don’t know what they’re talking about. I’ve told you before about your daddy, how he don’t come from Earth. And the galaxy is a big old place, it takes time to get around. I’m sure he’ll come see us soon.”

Peter nods, the movement of his head rubbing the fabric of her dress against her side. “How big’s the galaxy? Do you think people get bored traveling such big distances? Cause I get bored just traveling over to the town next to ours, and that’s only an hour or so. It’s gotta take way longer than that to travel between planets.” 

Meredith laughs. “Afraid I don’t know the answer to those ones. You’ll have to ask our space man when he gets here.” She holds him a moment longer. “Now, what do you say we eat our lunch?”

Peter wiggles off her lap with a cheer and lunges for the picnic basket.

Meredith helps unpack the food, but Peter’s question has made her realise that it’s been over five years since she last saw Ego. It takes her a little while to work out how she feels about that, but she thinks it might be something like disappointment, and perhaps even the faint stirrings of anger. It’s the first time she wonders if she might not love her space man quite as much as she used to. 

*****

That feeling grows, little by little over the next few years.

****  
Three years later Meredith’s world shatters around her. Peter and Meredith are back out in Mackenzie’s field, only this time it’s dark and the two of them are stargazing. Peter’s having a great time, making up names for all the constellations they can see (and making up constellations full stop), when they hear a faint hum, quiet at first but getting louder each minute that passes. 

One of the small specks of light in the sky up above them is getting larger and brighter, hurtling towards them at an astounding speed. As it gets closer, Meredith and Peter can see the shape of it, a somewhat triangular nose and a wide rear end. The humming noise is louder now, and it’s clear its coming from the blue glowing engines propelling the spacecraft through the sky. It slows as it nears them, hovering some fifty feet above their heads, updrafts from the engines swirling the air and rustling the grass stems around them.

Peter’s eyes are wide with wonder. “Mom.” he whispers, tugging at her dress. “Mom, it’s a spaceship!”

“Yeah, baby.” Meredith says, but her eyes are trying to pick out the details of hull, searching for a window that might let her see the person she desperately hopes this ship belongs to. (Although at the point she isn't sure if she's going to smack him round the face before or after she hugs him.) 

Without warning, a beam of light swirls down from the nose of the spaceship, spiralling yellow and green and red, bright enough to make both of them cover their eyes for an instant. When the light clears, there are two people standing in the cornfield in front of them. 

They’re big and kinda ugly looking, and they certainly ain’t Peter’s father. The one nearest them strides towards them, saying something in a language Meredith doesn’t know, all harsh consonants and clipped vowels. Meredith might have given him the benefit of the doubt, but then she catches sight of the weapons being waved around, and well, she’s not taking any chances. Meredith screams, high pitched and piercing and swings her backpack at him. Well. Meredith might be assuming it’s a him, but she doesn’t intend to hang around long enough to find out if biological dimorphism looks the same in whatever species the taller one is.

The being staggers back a few paces as the rucksack, laden down with blankets, astronomy books and a thermos flask, smacks him in the face. She grabs Peter’s hand and starts running, tugging him along behind her. “Hold on to my hand, Peter!” she yells as they go. Peter is gasping and stumbling in the half dark, his small fingers desperately gripping hers. “Hold on and don’t let go.”

The two of them pull away slightly, ten, maybe twenty paces ahead towards the distant lights and safety of the town, when there’s a sound like the time her Da blew all the fuses in the house at once. 

Meredith jolts, electricity sparking across her back in bright white arcs. Her scream is frozen in her throat as her limbs go numb and she drops onto crumbly soil and withered grass stems. 

“Mom!” Peter shrieks, falling to his knees beside her, attempting to roll her over onto her front. “Mom!”

She twist her head slightly, meets her son’s terrified eyes. Tries to grip his hand tighter, but her fingers won’t listen to her and her hand lies limp in her son’s grasp. Not far off, heavy boots crunch towards them.

“Run, Peter.” Meredith whispers. 

Peter cries and shakes his head, gripping onto her hand. “I’m not leaving you!” he wails.

“Please, Peter, run and don’t stop.” Meredith croaks out. “I love you, little Starlord.”

Peter shakes his head, stubborn tears falling from his eyes. “You said hold on to your hand -“

Whatever words he might have said next are cut off as a large, mottled grey arm wraps around his torso and pulls him up and away from her. The arm belongs to an… alien, there really ain’t no other word for it, taller than she’s ever seen a human grow, heavy and hulking with muscle beneath leathery skin.

“Peter!” she cries.

Peter shrieks, kicking and failing, desperately holding onto her hand but one hard tug loosens his grip. Meredith can’t do anything but watch, helpless, as the being, dressed in maroon leather trousers and a strange assortment of weaponry manhandles her son away from her. He’s joined by another, this one shorter, with blue skin and red eyes. She refuses to take her eyes of off Peter, willing her body to move, even as a bright swirling cylinder of light envelopes the three figures. She blinks and her son is gone, transported into the hulking metal spaceship hovering overhead. She refuses to close her eyes, fixing the shape of the craft in her mind as it rises, up, up, away into the dark night, carrying her son away.

“No.” Meredith whispers, tears streaking down her face. “Give him back, you bastards.”


	2. I am not there; I do not sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meredith picks herself up and forms a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah, this was way sooner than I was expecting it to be done, but hey, the words were practically writing themselves. 
> 
> I was blown away by the response to the last chapter - to everyone who reviewed, gave kudos etc, you are all amazing. 
> 
> If anyone spots any typos, please do point them out, and thanks to the people who pointed out that I'd repeated a section in the last chapter!

It takes hours for the paralysing effect of the shot to wear off. Hours of Meredith lying motionless in the cool summer night, raging at the bastards who’ve kidnapped her son. And at the jackass who ordered it done. Meredith may not have a college degree, but she isn’t stupid - there’s only one reason she can think of for aliens to fly out to a remote town in the middle of Missouri and make off with Peter, leaving her behind, and it ain’t cause they just felt like it.

All of the carefully ignored hurt and disappointment towards Ego that had been building over the past eight years has crystallised into something heavy and sharp inside her. It’s better than the panicked grief that’s lurking on the edge of her rational thoughts.

Meredith makes a decision. She’s going not gonna give up on getting her son back.

Eventually moment returns to her limbs. Just her fingers at first, then gradually her arms and legs. Meredith pushes herself upright, staggers a little bit, fighting against heavy limbs and the occasional muscle spasm. Meredith takes a breath, grits her teeth, digs in her heels and starts walking. The walk back to town seems far longer than it’d taken her and Peter earlier that evening, but eventually she reaches the outer edge of houses. From there it’s only a few minutes on to her Da’s house - Peter and Meredith live in a small split house slightly further to the south. 

There’s still a light on in the living room and Meredith can see the outline of her Da’s head through the net curtains. Reaching the steps she lurches up onto the front porch before stumbling a little into the door frame. The front door’s not locked - there really isn’t much to steal way out here in this sleepy little town.

Her Da looks up as she exits the hall and turns the corner into the front room, smiling a greeting. “Evening, Mere, Peter, I wasn’t expecting you - Mere, what’s the matter with your head?” 

Meredith belatedly puts a hand to her forehead, her fingers coming away rusted and red. She must have cut it when she fell over and not felt a damn thing. Her Da stands up, moving towards the kitchen where he keeps the first aid kit.

“They took Peter.” she blurts out, the words scarcely able to make it past the sudden lump in her throat, the dread that’s gripped her heart. 

Gregg pauses in the doorframe.

“What?” he asks, blood draining from his face.

“They took Peter!” Meredith yells, and she’s crying now, shaking all over. “They took him up in their ship and he’s gone, Dad, and I don’t know how to get him back.”

Gregg looks as lost as she feels, but he places a hand on her elbow and steers her to an armchair. Meredith bends forwards, buries her head in her hands and sobs, taking deep gasping breaths.

Dimly, she hears snatches of half a conversation behind her. 

“No, don’t know how…

… head’s bleeding. Says someone took my grandkid, Peter.”

Her Da must be on the phone to someone. 

Then he’s kneeling before her, holding a wet towel. “I’m gonna clean out this cut on your head, ok, Mere? I’ve rung the police, they say they're sending someone over.”

Meredith stares at him blankly. “Police won’t do no good.” she says, confused. “His daddy sent some people to get him and he’s gone up to the stars somewhere. Police ain’t gonna find a man and child that ain’t on Earth anymore.”

Gregg’s face goes a shade paler. “Kiddo, what do you mean he’s not on Earth anymore.” His hands are trembling a little. “Did someone… did someone hurt Peter?”

Meredith shakes her head. “They pulled him away from me and he was crying something awful, but I didn’t see them hurt him.” The ache in her chest is back again, stronger than ever and it strangles whatever words she might have said next.

“It’ll be ok, Meredith. We’ll find him, ok? They can’t have gotten too far yet.”

And Meredith wants to cry and scream at him because she knows that Peter’s already gotten further she can possibly follow.

****

Then the police arrive, and the questions start. Meredith starts by telling them the truth, that Peter’s father had sent someone to pick up her son and taken him away back to the stars, but it’s clear soon enough that no one believes her. They do ask her questions about Ego and Meredith gives them a description to put out an alert to all units in the county. (Meredith restrains herself from laughing at the utter futility of that particular course of action.)

They try to tell to her that she’s in shock, that she’s confused. That whatever blow she took to the head, the electrical burns down her back have made her forget what happened. That she can’t imagine why some human being would have taken her son away so she invented a space ship to put the blame elsewhere. She hears a couple of her Aunts whispering that Peter’d been murdered in front of her and she’d made up the story to blank the memory from her head. Meredith almost throws a dish at them.

Over the next few months Meredith resists all attempts to change her mind with the southern politeness her parents raised her with. Throws the pills the doctor gives her to help her sleep down the sink. She starts to spend hours at night staring at the night sky from the porch of her Da’s house. More than a handful of times she’s woken the next morning to Gregg’s worried face to find she’s slept the whole night on the old wicker chair. 

The seventh (eighth?) time it happens, Da finally says something about it. Kneeling down next to her, his face looks older and more tired than she remembers it being. Carefully he grasps her hand, like he thinks she’s some fragile porcelain doll that’ll break if he moves to fast. Meredith almost resents that. She’s never considered herself someone who’s needed looking after much.

“I’m worried about you, darling girl.” he says. “Please, you have to let Peter go. Where ever he is, you sitting here isn’t going help. If you think his father took him, why don’t we try hiring someone to track him down.”

Meredith blinks at him, looks down at their joined hands. The though turns over in her head, and an idea unfurls in her mind. For the first time in several weeks, she feels the beginning of smile prick at the corners of her mouth. She leans forward and presses a gentle kiss onto her Da’s forehead.

“Thank you.” she murmurs. “Guess I needed someone to give me a bit of a push.”

The next day, Meredith telephones the University of Missouri to ask how she can apply to their undergraduate physics degree program. People always listen better if you’ve got a bit of paper that says you know what you’re talking about.


	3. I am a thousand winds that blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter loses pretty much everything he's ever known except a Walkman and isn't happy about it.
> 
> And Yondu discovers exactly how stubborn Terrans can be when they've set their mind to something, and ends up making a deal to try to keep the brat from accidentally killing them all trying to get back to Terra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, this chapter fought with me the whole dratted way. But - I did get it written eventually! For those of you wondering how Peter’s been getting on, wonder no longer…
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented last chapter - your reviews really help keep me going when I get a bit stuck with things!
> 
> No idea when the next chapter will be done - I'll be kinda busy at work for the next few weeks but will try to keep the gap not too long.
> 
> And if anyone has any thoughts or suggestions I'd alway be happy to hear them!

Peter tries to hang onto his mom’s hand. He really, really does. He grips it so tight his fingers ache, but for all his effort his mom can’t grip back.

“Run, Peter.” she whispers, and then, “I love you, little Starlord.”

And Peter didn’t - couldn’t - run, even through she asked him too, until he’s torn away from his mom by someone far bigger and stronger than he is.

Peter struggles against the arm that holds him in place, but he might as well be fighting a boulder for all the good it’s doing. Mom is still lying on the ground where she fell, and sure she talked to him a little bit but Peter doesn’t know how badly she’s hurt. Peter doesn’t know if she’s going to be alright.

“Mom!” he screams, and then, “Put me down, you big dumbass!”

Peter knows he’s not supposed to swear, but he’s pretty sure that these guys deserve it. Peter’s not even sure if they can understand him anyway - if they’re really from outer space, they probably don’t speak English.

Peter is still kicking and yelling when the air in front of him grows brighter and warmer. When it clears they’re not standing in Mackenzie’s field any longer, but instead on a metal floor, surrounded on all four sides by metal grating. Part of the grating slides aside and Peter can see the backs of two seats, really fancy looking ones kinda like his grampa' arm chair, and beyond that nothing but black empty sky.

One of the chairs swivels round slightly and Peter can see that there’s a third person sitting in it, fairly normal, if a bit grungy looking. The blue skinned one barks something at them, striding towards the second seat and Peter can feel a faint humming vibration and a sinking feeling in his stomach. Peter starts struggling again in earnest, kicking and screaming, because they’re moving steadily upwards and away and he’s leaving Mom behind.

“Put me back!” he howls.

He’s so busy trying to escape the clutches of the big leathery skinned one that he doesn’t notice the blue skinned one returning till he feels a sharp prick in his upper arm. Peter twists sideways to look and sees the guy withdrawing something that looks like a water pistol except it's made of metal and has a really sharp pointed tip. Peter’s limbs start to feel heavy and dull. To his dismay, he finds that he’s started to cry.

“Lemme go.” he croaks, trying to push away from the guy behind him, but his vision’s going blurry and before he knows it he’s sliding into unconsciousness.

****

Peter wakes up slowly and at first he thinks his mom must have carried him back to their house, because he doesn’t remember getting into bed. The air on his face is cool, and Peter suddenly realises he’s not got a quilt over him. He reaches out drowsily, expecting to feel the edge of his bed and the floor where the quilt probably fell, but instead his hand hits metal. Peter starts in surprise, opening his eyes fully. The fabric beneath his cheek is too rough to be his pillow and suddenly he remembers what happened. Peter jerks upright.

_Spaceship arriving. Mom falling to the ground._

Peter swivels his head around, eyes frantically taking in the dim interior of the spaceship. The big guy from earlier is sitting with his boots propped up on a low table in a corner of the room. He spares a quick glance in Peter’s direction, then returns his attention to the small knife he’s turning over and over in his hand. Peter stares at it, unwillingly mesmerised as it glints and flashes under the lights as the blade flips back and forth.

Points the knife in his direction, then at the pile of blankets where he’s currently sat. He says something in a gravelly voice that Peter doesn’t know, although he imagine means something along the lines of ‘Stay there.’ Then the alien stands up. tucks the knife into his boot and climbs up a small vertical ladder set in one corner. His boots disappear from sight at the top and Peter is left alone.

For a couple of moments, Peter sits on the bed and considers following the implied instructions. And. Well. Peter’s never been very good at doing what he’s been told. ‘Sides, he can totally play the ‘I didn’t understand what you meant’ card, given he literally can’t understand what the alien’s been saying. So Peter creeps up the ladder after the guy, cautiously poking his head out of the hatch in the floor of the room above. When he’s not immediately yelled at, he clambers the rest of the way up.

He takes half a dozen steps forwards and then his legs lock together. From here, he can see out of the front view panel and there’s nothing outside but inky black space speckled with small twinkling stars. No planets. No moons. Nothing but empty space. Peter lurches forwards until his nose is pressed up against the glass, hoping desperately that Earth is just out of sight beneath them. It’s not, of course. Because Peter knows that they’re probably further from home than he’s ever been before, and probably not even in the Solar system anymore.

A hand grasps his shoulder and Peter is roughly turned around. There’s a very large, very angry looking face right in front of his, and someone’s yelling at him but Peter doesn’t really notice that. He’s not really noticing anything aside from the gaping hole that seems to have opened up somewhere in his chest. Peter can feel his face screwing up and and his eyes go hot and itchy. He gulps in air a few times and tries very hard not to think about what his mom looked like lying in the dirt. How he’s not even sure where she is in relation to where he is, and that he couldn’t even hold onto her hand when she’d asked him to.

He’s babbling something, a mixture of ‘leave me alone’ and ‘I want to go home’, but he’s pretty sure that the person hanging onto his arm isn’t listening. Certainly they don’t seem to be bothered much, if the way that they drag him back towards the hatch in the floor, down the ladder and back onto the pile of blankets he was sitting on earlier is any indication. Finally the hand releases him and Peter curls miserably into a ball, trying not to cry for all the things he’s lost.

They leave him alone for a little bit, after that.

__****_ _

Sometime later - Peter’s got no real way of telling - Peter starts to feel a tugging in his stomach and a lurching sensation that feels almost like the spaceship he’s on is slowing down. The noise the engines are making changes too, gradually pitching downwards to a low rumbling. The ship judders abruptly a few times then the engines power down entirely. Heavy footsteps sound overhead and Peter lifts his head from where it’s buried in his forearms. He watches quietly as the all three of the aliens from earlier descend the ladder and gather round one of the back walls.

The blue skinned one with the red strip of metal on his head (Peter’s yet to get a name for any of them) beckons in Peter’s direction. Peter flat out ignores him. He’s not feeling all that cooperative right now, given how he was kidnapped not so long ago. A brief exchange of words and the tall blue grey one from earlier with the knife stalks over to him. Peter tries to scramble away the guy just wraps one large hand around his bicep and drags him upright, hauling him over to where the other two are waiting.

The wall in front of him starts moving, sliding up and away from them and beyond it, Peter can see a small grated walkway suspended in air above a huge open deck. There are other ships suspended from hooks in the ceiling, and Peter wonders if they’ve landed on another planet. He’s not too sure how he feels about that, truth be told.

Then the one holding onto his arm moves forwards, clearly intending to walk off onto the ramp and Peter has had _enough _.__

Peter kicks the guy holding onto him between the legs, just like Mom told him to if an adult ever tried to get him to go somewhere he didn’t want to. He wriggles sideways out of his grasp, darts out of the open end of the ship and tears off along the walkway. He has no idea where he’s going, but like hell is that going to stop him.

Behind him there’s a furious yell, and a couple of words Peter doesn’t understand. A couple more people appear at the end of the walkway, but Peter’s going too fast to be scared and instead of stopping he rams into their legs as hard as he can, kicking one of them on the ankle and biting at the other one when they try to grab him. He hurtles down the metal stairs two at a time, lands heavily at the bottom and scrambles to his feet again.

Peter sprints away across the large open deck. He makes it half way across the hanger when there’s a piercing whistle from behind him and something jerks him upwards and sideways by the back of his jacket. Peter’s back collides with the metal wall of the hanger and he’s left pinned in the air, feet scrabbling uselessly above the floor.

The impact knocks the air from Peter’s lungs. He struggles to take a breath as people gather round him now in the hanger. Some of them look human, except for the odd ways that they don’t - a strange flash of colour, the occasional set of scales or teeth or nails, but some look so far from human that Peter doesn’t even have a reference frame for them. Most of them are jeering and laughing at him, their voices all overlapping and blending together.

“Let me down!” Peter yells, flailing a fist at one of them who gets a little closer than he’d like.

He spots a ripple of movement near the back of the crowd as someone moves through it. It’s one of the aliens who’d grabbed him from Earth. The crowd quietens a little as he walks forwards. The blue faced being stops in front of him and eyes Peter up and down for a few seconds. To Peter’s surprise, his next few words are in English.

“Stop yelling.”

If anything, that makes Peter madder. Sure, the guy’s accent is horrible and it’s clear he don’t speak much English, but that still means that this guy could understand him the whole time and he still took him away.

“You put me back on Earth!” Peter screams at him. “You kidnapped me, now put me-“

The man in front of him takes two swift steps towards him and slaps him across the face. Peter’s never been hit like that before - by an adult who meant it. Other kids in the playground, sure, but he’d at least seen it coming. It stuns him into silence.

“Listen, boy,” the man says, his face right up against Peter’s, close enough that Peter can see the odd patch of scar tissue and the messy state of the guys teeth. “My name is Yondu Udonta.” he points at the men round them. “My crew.” gestures at the walls and ceiling around them “My ship. Be quiet. Or I’ll throw this away.”

Yondu takes a step back and hefts the rucksack Peter remembers his Mom throwing at him by one of it red straps.

“That’s mine!” Peter says, trying to reach for it.

“You come quietly and I might let you have some of it back.” Yondu says, and Peter hates him a little bit more.

Peter scowls. He doesn’t want to go anywhere with anyone. What he wants is to go back to Missouri, back to his mom. She’ll probably yell at him for scaring her and letting himself be kidnapped, but right now he doesn’t care. He also can’t see a way of getting back home anytime soon, so reluctantly Peter nods.

Yondu’s face splits into a wide grin. He says something in another language that has the other people around them groan in disappointment and start to disperse, wandering off around the hanger or disappearing round the corner further into the ship.

Yondu whistles, high pitched and trilling and Peter feels whatever’s holding him in place on the wall move. He lands a little awkwardly, legs folded up beneath him, but quickly scrambles to his feet again. Most of Peter’s attention is captured by a floating arrow, trailing a stream of red light behind it, that darts through the air and returns to a holster on Yondu’s hip.

And ok, Peter has to admit that’s pretty cool. Even if the guy who can control it is a total jerk.

Yondu starts walking away from him, further into the interior of the spaceship they’re on. Peter spares half a moment to wonder exactly how large the ship must be to hold all of the other smaller ships, before he runs to catch up, unwilling to let his mom’s rucksack out of sight. They go up several flights of stairs, winding through numerous dim corridors. The two of them pass a handful crew members along the way. Now that Peter’s looking, they’re all dressed in jackets made from a dark red leather, with a gold coloured flame stitched somewhere. Most of them move out of the way when the see Yondu coming, and a lot of them stare at Peter as he passes, and Peter doesn’t know what to do aside from stare back.

The ship’s noisier than Peter was expecting, too. He’d always thought space’d be pretty quiet, but he can hear the gurgling of liquid moving through the pipes bolted onto the walls and ceiling, the occasional loud clank and once, the chatter of voices spilling out of a more brightly lit room down a different corridor.

Eventually they reach a room that’s mostly just a pile of blankets and bedding strewn in rough piles about the floor. Yondu locates another blanket from a box in a corner and hands it to him.

“Yours.” he tells Peter. He gestures around the room. “Sleep here.” He waves a hand in a roughly downwards direction. “Food two levels down. Keep quiet. Stay out of the way. Understand?”

Peter nods. Yondu turns to leave and Peter jerks toward him before he has a chance to think through the motion.

“Wait.” he cries, latching a hand onto one of Yondu’s sleeves. “You said I could have something outta the backpack if I came quietly.”

Yondu glares at the hand on his sleeve and for an instant, Peter wonders if he’s going to get slapped again. The moment stretches and Peter eventually lets go, but he doesn’t move any further away.

Finally Yondu huffs, mutters something unintelligible and unzips the backpack. “One.” he says.

Peter doesn’t even have to think about it - as soon as he sees his mom’s walkman he snatches it away and clutches it tightly to his chest, a little afraid that Yondu’ll just take it straight back off him again. The alien just stares at him a moment longer, then turns and leaves, taking the rest of the things in the rucksack with him.

Peter stares down at his mom’s Walkman, one lonesome tape still held inside. Carefully he clips it to his belt and slides the orange headphones over his ears. Presses play. The first few notes of Spirit in the Sky Norman start sounding. Peter takes a deep breath. He can do this. He _can_. At least as long as it takes him to work out a way to get home.

****

It’s been about 50 sleep/wake cycles since they picked up that kid off of Terra, and Yondu is starting wonder if he shouldn’t have just ignored Ego’s last message and wiped his hands of the whole mess altogether. They’d gotten him a translator implant maybe 10 cycles after he arrived, mostly cause Yondu was getting tired of the kid asking questions Yondu didn’t have the words in English to answer. That’d helped some, but Yondu’s kinda wishing that he hadn’t announced to the crew that he’d kept the brat because he was small and could wiggle into places, as the kid seemed to have taken it as some sorta challenge. He seemed to be always crawling through the damn vents and dropping stuff out of ‘em. In fairness, most of the stuff were things that’d fallen in the vents at one point or another, but that did not mean that Yondu appreciated old bits of junk dropping on the table when he’s trying to eat.

This situation, however, is a mite bit more serious than just the risk of blunt force trauma. Somehow (and Yondu’s still trying to work out the _how_ ), the kid had managed to get through the electronic locks sealing off the hanger where the M-ships are stored. His intention had clearly been to try to get away from the Eclector in one of them, and had even gotten as far as getting up into one of the M-ships before someone had spotted him and dragged him in front of the captain.

Yondu looks at the kid, up to the couple of crew member surrounding them, and back to the kid.

“Alright.” he says. “Which one of you fellas was dumb enough to show the kid the code into the hanger?”

There are a couple of mutters and shifting of feet from the back, but, unsurprisingly, no one owns up.

Yondu catches the brief flash of guilt that crosses the kid’s face. Hmm. Maybe this isn’t just a case of someone being careless.

“No?” Yondu asks, meeting the eyes of the various Ravagers. “In that case..”

Yondu whistles once, sharp and clear and his Yaka arrow darts out of its holster to hover around the throat of a Xandarian standing near the front.

“I seem to recall you were the one who was supervising the kid over the past few days, Relav. You sure you didn’t slip up?”

Relav’s black eyes widen with alarm. “Didn’t take him anywhere near the hanger doors, captain.” he blurts out.

And he’s probably telling the truth, but Yondu has to make sure. The arrow slides a little bit closer, just enough that the tip pricks into Relav’s neck.

“You sure about that?” Yondu asks, quiet. “I’d hate to find out you’re not telling me the truth.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the boy start in alarm. Gotcha.

“Nobody told me!” the kid yells, jerking forwards against the hand that’s holding him in place. “I hacked the damn thing, alright? So there’s no need to go killing anyone over it.”

Yondu turns to face the boy again. Takes in the honest desperation in his face. Yondu trills a short note and the arrow swoops back into the holster by his side.

“Alright you lot, get going. The brat and I need to have a talk.”

The Ravagers are more than happy to scramble away, disappearing back into the depths of the ship. Kraglin stays, of course. First mate is always present for these sorts of things. For a long moment, Yondu eyes the brat up and down. He don’t look like much, still, all long limbs and kinda scrawny, but Yondu knows the locks on the _Eclector_ are finicky to understand at the best of times, and if the kid’s telling the truth about managing to hack one of them, then Yondu needs to know how he did.

With that in mind, he walks over to the bulkhead door that lead into the bridge and types in the command to seal and lock it. The door shuts with a pneumatic hiss.

“Alright, show me.”

The kid looks suspicious, which fair enough. “Why’d you wanna do that?”

“Never you mind why. Unless you don’t have the skills to do it?”

As expected, that gets the him moving.

Sure enough, the kid pulls out a small multi tool (and where he’d gotten one of them was a question for another day) and starts fiddling with the covering on the control panel. He has it off in less than a minute, carefully attaching a small bit of foil as a circuit joiner to stop the system being notified that the panel’s come off in the first place. He then spends maybe another minute fiddling around with the tangled mess of wires inside the panel, swapping over a couple of connections and then carefully stripping two of them bare. Peter gently touches the two wires together. There’s a small set of sparks, then the door flashes from red to green and it slides open.

Huh.

Yondu’s actually surprised the kid did it. That doesn’t change the fact that he could have zapped himself on the wires or accidentally opened more than just the internal door. Kraglin stands a few paces behind them both, waiting for Yondu’s next move. Well, he can’t just let the kid’s rebellion stand unpunished, even if it was a job well done.

“For damaging my ship, you’re on kitchen duty for the next week.”

The boy looks outraged. “10 cycles?”

“You’re lucky it’s not more, boy.”

The kid’s face does something funny, like a cross between fury and irritation. “Well maybe if you’d just take me home, I wouldn’t keep damaging your damn ship.”

Yondu almost groans. If he had any hair, he’s pretty sure he’d be tearing it out in frustration. As it is, he settles for giving the boy a sharp rap on the head. “Did ya not hear me the first time? We ain’t anywhere near Terra and I’m not turning the whole ship around just to drop off one scrawny brat.”

The kid scowls. “Well, why couldn’t you just drop me on a planet somewhere, I bet I could make it back to Terra from there.”

And Yondu’s thought about it, sure, but - how long till that bastard Ego tracks the kid down on whatever planet he’s dumped on? Not to mention the kid probably wouldn’t last more than a couple a planet-years, unused to space-going planets and all that.

He needs some way of keeping the kid on the _Eclector_ and stopping him running off. “Why do you keep trying to get home anyway? What’s so great about Terra that you’re hell bound to try to kill yourself getting back there?”

The brat looks at him like he’s gone nuts. “My mom is on Ea-Terra. And I don’t even know if she’s alright after you guys hit her with that stun gun.”

Aw hell. Yondu can’t say he’s ever gotten attached to people, but he knows a couple of crew members have family out in the black somewhere, and they’re some of the most bull headed Ravagers he knows when it comes to surviving shit that ought ta kill them.

“I already told you when you first got here, the effects of the gun would’ve worn off in a few hours.” Yondu pauses, the beginnings of an idea forming. “You care about your mom, huh?”

“Of course.” the kid says, like it’s one of the fundamentals of the whole goddamn universe.

Yondu considers him. “Alright. In that case, come up to the communications room after you’re done with your shift this evening. I’ve got something to show you.”

The kid isn’t the only on to look surprised at that - Kraglin’s eyebrows jump a little too.

“What for?” he asks

“You’ll find out later. Now go on, get.” Yondu replies, emphasising the point with a gentle swat towards the boy’s head. The boy skips out of the way and complies. Yondu can practically read the lines of sulk in his entire body.

Yondu sighs and turns to one to pull up some of his stored communications files. He’s got a conversation with a jackass to find in amongst the databanks.

****

Several hours later, there’s a short rap on the outside of the communications room.

“Hack the door to get in, boy!” Yondu yells.

There’s a slight pause, then the boy yells something very uncomplimentary back at him, but less than half a minute later the door slides open. Good. He’s getting faster.

The kid slouches in, looking every inch the disgruntled child that he is. Yondu kicks a small swivel chair at him.

“Sit down on that. I’ve got something to show you.”

Curiosity wins out over his irritation, and the boy sits. Yondu had spent the last few hours splicing parts of the conversation he’d had with Ego together to show the kid, and it’s now pulled up on the video screen in front of them.

“What is it?”

“Shut up. Watch and listen.”

Yondu starts the recording, and thanks the stars that Ego hadn’t taken a particularly pleasant tone when Yondu started asking a question or two during their last face to face conversation. Yondu curls his hands into fists and makes a concerted effort not to punch the screen when the jackass started talking.

“I need you to pick up another kid for me.” Ego was saying, all sincere sounding. Like he hadn’t murdered dozens of his own offspring. “It shouldn’t be too difficult. The kid’s from Terra, goes by the name of Peter Quill.”

“Any chance he might be missed by somebody? I don’t much fancy being chased outta there.”

Ego laughs. “Only the boy’s mother. She’s unimportant, but try not to make a mess when you collect him. And Terra has yet to develop the capacity for interstellar travel, so I doubt there’ll be too much trouble.”

Yondu leans forwards and flicks the recording to pause.

He looks down at the kid. His jaws hanging open a little bit and for once, he doesn’t seem to be able to find any words. So Yondu starts talking instead.

“See, the thing is kid, it weren’t random that we picked you up.” Yondu nods his head towards the screen where Ego’s smug face is frozen. “That guy there was willing to pay a hefty amount for picking you up. Now, I don’t know what he wanted you for.” _lies_ “but him and I have crossed paths before, and I figured snatching you outta his grasp before anyone else could would be fair repayment for the times he’s screwed me over.”

The memories of twelve kids float hazily just out of reach, close enough that if he thinks too hard on them Yondu’s not going thinking of much else for a good long while.

The boy’s eyes have moved from the video screen to Yondu’s face now, focused with an intensity that’s actually kinda unnerving.

Yondu leans forwards a little in his chair, meeting the other pairs of eyes dead on, because this - this is the important bit. This is the bit that’ll hopefully persuade the kid to stay on the _Eclector_.

“Now, we picked you up fairly civilly, all things considered. Didn’t do your mom any lasting damage. But if we were to drop you back, how long do you think it’d take before word reached this jackass that you were back on Terra, hmm?”

The kid swallows, once.

“And somehow, I don’t think the next people he might send would be as willing to leave your mom unharmed, if she tries to stop them like she did to us. Might not even stop at your mom, either. Might just torch your whole town just be certain.”

Yondu’s watching the kid’s face as he listens to the words. There’s shock there, true, and a sort of horrified acceptance of the words Yondu’s told him. But Yondu’s more interested in the cold, bone deep fury that crosses the kid’s face when he mentions the possibility of his mom getting hurt.

“We couldn’t drop you off on another planet, either. If someone comes looking for you there, like as not they won’t be worried about the damage they cause to the people around you.”

Something in the boy’s face crumples as he processes what the Yondu’s telling him. He brings his hands up to his face and scrubs at his eyes - a little angry, maybe. A little sad, perhaps. Yondu lets him have a few moments of peace.

“So, you going to stop trying to run off every chance you get now?”

The kid wobbles his head in what might be a nod of agreement. “But what if I don’t want to be a Ravager for ever.”

Oh stars and celestials, Yondu thinks. He’s just told the kid about the safest place for him is here and he’s immediately wondering when he can leave!

“Tell you what.” Yondu says. “I’ll make you a deal.”

Now the kid looks interested, sitting up a bit straighter. Deals are a serious business, Ravager wise. One of the few rules the Ravagers have - don’t cheat your own. Except at cards, where that’s practically expected.

“What sort of deal?”

“A… terms of employment sort of thing. You work for me as a Ravager until you’ve earned enough to part ways. We’ll teach you how to steal things properly, maybe even get you flying one day.”

As expected, the boy’s eyes light up at the prospect of flying by himself, even if Yondu no intention of letting him near one of the M-ships unsupervised for a very long time.

“On the condition,” Yondu continues, “that you don’t ever head back to Terra, even once you’ve gone your own way. Even sending a message might let the guy after you know where you were, and I don’t think you want to risk anything happening to your mom, right.”

The kid shakes his head, once. Chews his lip, considering. “What about solo jobs?” Peter asks.

Yondu thinks fast. “You pay the captain’s cut on solo jobs you take as per the standard crew agreement, but whatever cut you keep is yours to do what you want with. If you want to spend it on fancy things or save it towards your departure, that’s up to you.”

“How much.”

“How much what?”

“How much do I gotta earn before I can go my own way?”

Yondu has little intention of the letting the kid go anywhere for a very long time, and names a price - 1 billion units - that most Ravagers won’t see fit to earn in their whole lifetimes.

The kid scowls at him. “Quarter of a billion.” he says.

And - is the brat actually haggling with him? Yondu lets him more for amusement than anything else. He can’t remember the last time anyone on the crew actually had the guts to argue with him.

They eventually settle on the sum of a little over half a billion units and the two of them shake on it. Yondu sits back with a pleased smirk, lifting a communicator to his lips. Ravager deals generally require a witness, after all.

“Kraglin?”

“Ay, captain.”

“Get up to the communications bay, would ya? Got a deal to be witnessed.”

There’s a slight pause.

“On my way.”

Yondu returns his attention to the kid. “Anything else?”

The kid nods. “Yeah. My name’s Peter, not brat. You could use it every now and again. And when Kraglin gets here, I want that whole thing in writing.”

Yondu raises an eyebrow at him. “Why, I'm hurt. I'd almost think you don't trust me.”

And the kid - Peter - bares his teeth an in expression that is most definitely not a smile.

“Not a bit.” he replies.

And Yondu can’t help but throw back his head and laugh.

****

Peter goes to bed that night with a small slip of paper tucked in amongst his small pile of possesions (and two electronic backup copies stored in the _Eclector_ storage system) that promise that one day, he might be able to fly between the stars on his own two feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a hilarious note of interest, my autocorrect function kept trying to change Kraglin to Karolyn - I'm pretty sure I caught all of them, but please let me know if I didn't!


	4. I am the diamond glints on snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meredith makes herself useful around the physics department, graduates and sets her feet on a career path that one day, might let her send our a message to the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this has taken so long - lab work has been dire the past month or so. I know this is isn't particularly long, but I figured better something than nothing! Hopefully may have a bit more time over the next few weeks to work on the next part. 
> 
> All comments on the last chapter were greatly appreciated - many thanks to you all! Occurs to me - I am also on tumblr under the same name, if anyone would like to drop a message to my inbox/ask box there!

Meredith is accepted into the University of Missouri foundation year in the autumn of 1988. She might not be the most naturally gifted in the class, but she more than makes up for it with hard work.  The first year is probably the hardest - away from her hometown and her Da, the absence of Peter a weight that never quite seems to go away. Peter’s birthday is a low day, and Meredith skips classes to sit out in one of the parks near to the main campus. She listens to a new mix of music on a replacement Walkman for her own one. Meredith never did find the rucksack she’d thrown at the aliens who’d kidnapped her son, and she likes to think that Peter’s got her original Walkman with him, wherever in the galaxy he might be. It’s a comfort, to think that they’re still listening to the same songs, even though she’s a million miles distant.  

Winter passes through to spring, and back around to summer again. Her relatives continue to look disapproving at her insistence that Peter is still alive, somewhere out in space. Meredith gets in a screaming fit with two of her aunts over their requests for a gravestone for Peter. Her Da doesn’t specifically take a side, but she can tell that he doesn’t really believe that Peter’s still alive. Meredith holds the knowledge of what actually happened like a weapon to keep herself grounded when everyone around attempts to change her mind.

She makes a mix tape on the first anniversary of Peter going missing, filled the new songs she’d found in the year Peter’d been missing. Meredith calls it “Peter’s Mix, Vol. 1” and dares her relatives to say anything about it. 

Gradually, things get better. Meredith learns about radio astronomy and infrared astronomy, the equations that govern the speed of light and sound and the distance between galaxies. She discovers she likes learning, all things considered, and the years of her degree program all but fly by. 

**** 

Rather than return to an empty house during the summer holidays, Meredith talks her way into helping several postgraduate students with their summer lab work.  As it turns out, the years spent helping her Da tune car engines and fix stuff around the house lends itself rather well to making adjustments on various bits of machinery around the astrophysics labs. Before she really knows it, she’s elbow deep in altering connections and alignments of most of the machinery along side the technicians whose actual job it is. By the time she’s in her fourth and final year, it’s not just the physics lab technicians who end up roping her into helping them with their equipment.  

Which is why finds Meredith herself wedged alongside one of the radio dishes on the roof of the lab one sunny April morning, trying to work out what on earth the hapless graduate students running the last set of experiments had done to the wiring.  

She’d been awoken a little earlier than she’d intended several hours previously by a knocking on her door. It had opened on several panicking postgraduate students, talking over each other in an attempt to explain what they thought had happened - which, as Meredith is now learning, rarely equates to them knowing what actually had happened. 

Meredith thinks she’s almost gotten to the root of the problem (overloaded set of connections and fuses) when she hears footsteps on the roof, but from her current position can’t make out much more than a pair of feet. They stop near the dish, and Meredith assumes it’s one of the student coming over to check on her. Well, if they’re here they can make themselves useful.

“You mind passing me the voltmeter and one of the side cutter pliers? Voltmeter looks like a little box with a screen.” she asks, holding out a hand in the general direction of the other person. 

There’s a slight pause, and then they crouch down and start rummaging through the toolbox full of electrical equipment and spare parts.

“These the ones?” a male sounding voice asks, placing two objecting in her outstretched hand.

Meredith glances down, calls a thank you, and resumes poking at the side of the radio dish. Meredith has never really been one to sit in silence, and after a few seconds of quiet, she starts talking at her unexpected visitor. 

“Apparently there’s some postgraduate student dropping by this week to run a series of experiments using this big dish here. Got woken up by a gaggle of panicking graduate student this morning, all in a flap as they tried to explain that there seemed to be a fault somewhere in the system.  Naturally both the technicians are absent from campus today, and according to them I’m the next best thing. Goodness only knows how they managed to short circuit so many of the connections in this thing, but it’s nothing I can’t fix.”

Her explanation startles a laugh out the man on the roof. “Students. Seems every time you turn around they’ve managed to make a mess of something.”

Meredith hums absently, slightly more focused on the wiring in front of her. “I feel that I ought to take offence in that statement somewhere, seeing as I still count among the student population of this university, but unfortunately I can empathise.”

“Oh, you’re not a technician in the department then?”

“Just coming up to the end of my degree program, in fact. Major in physics with specialisation in astrophysics.” Meredith reattaches a few clips to the connector ports. “But I started helping out Bob and John - our two technicians - during the practical classes and over the summer, and next thing you know they seem to be callin’ me in every time they need an extra pair of hands.” Meredith replaces the outside panel on the control box of the dish and starts screwing it in place. “Keeps me busy, if nothing else.”

All finished, she carefully wriggles around the dish and comes face to face with the other person on the roof. He looks perhaps a decade or so older than herself, dressed for the summer weather in a pair of lightweight denim jeans and a cotton shirt. 

Meredith smiles in greeting. “Just need to run some calibrations from the lab and it should be good to go.”

The man smiles back. “Pleased to hear it.” he replies, holding out his hand. “James Moore. Lovely to meet you.”

Meredith takes his hand at the same that she notices that he’s wearing a visitor’s pass pinned to the front of his shirt. “Meredith Quill. Am I to guess from your badge that you’re the visiting postgraduate then?”

James laughs. “Guilty as charged, Ms. Quill.”

Meredith likes that he doesn’t automatically assume she’s a Mrs. “Will you be wanting to take a look round the lab whilst I set up the calibration run, Dr. Moore? 

“That sound lovely. And please, James is fine. Dr. Moore makes me sound old.”

Meredith grins and starts gathering up her toolbox. “Well, we wouldn’t want that would we?” 

The two of them make their way down from the roof via the fire escape and into the lab. Meredith stows the toolbox beneath the desk and slides a chair in front of the main computer. Meredith navigates the Windows 3.0 system on the boxy machine to start up the necessary controlling software for the radio dish. First up is a simple functional diagnostic, which comes back with green lights on all the connections. Meredith types in a few more command lines to set the program running through the set up. A progress bar comes up with on the screen centre, along with an estimated time of completion. 

Meredith sits back and rotates her swivel chair to face James, who’s been wandering around the lab examining some of the other bits of equipment. “Leave it an hour or so and them we can see about running your experiment, James.” she says. 

James bounces back over to her side of the lab and peers briefly at the computer screen. 

“Fantastic.” he says. “I suspect that there are going to be more than a few graduate students who will owe you a drink. Now. What do you say to finding a cafe for some lunch whilst we wait? I’d be interested to hearing more about the sort of technician work you’ve been doing here.”

In the face of his boyish enthusiasm, Meredith accepts.

 

****

 

Meredith attends her graduation ceremony few months later with a job offer to work at the Goddard Space Flight Center, courtesy of a recommendation by James Moore. Her Da is in the audience, cheering and weeping along with the parents of her mostly younger classmates. Her post-graduation meal is a quiet affair, just the two of them, as Meredith still hasn’t forgiven some of her Aunts for trying to convince her that Peter was dead during the past few years. Near the end of the meal, her Da leans across the table and grasps her hand between both of his.

“I’m so proud of you, Mere.” he tells her, his eyes meeting her’s (and Meredith can’t help the lurch in her stomach at their familiar shape and colour), “So proud. Just know that - no matter what - I’ll support you, ok? Never mind my what my sister say. You do whatever makes you happy, you hear me?”

Meredith grips his hand back, appreciating the thought behind it. But four years of a science degree, if nothing else, have taught her about lines of reasoning and making decisions based on all the facts.

“You’d do that even if you think I’m crazy for thinkin’ Peter’s still out there somewhere?”

Her daddy’s smile puts creases around his eyes that weren’t there five years ago. “Meredith, I might not be able to quite believe that Peter’s still alive, but I believe that you believe that, and if that’s what gives you the strength to keep going, then I ain’t gonna take that away from you.”

Meredith swallows past the lump in her throat and gives his hand a brief squeeze. They finish their meal talking about other matters, and don’t discuss the child-shaped gap in the room again.

 

 ****

 

The next few years at NASA are fun. To start with, she’s not in charge of any part of the lab, merely acting as an assistant to whomever needs an extra pair of hands or tools passing to them, but Michael, who oversees the project laboratory, soon realises that she’s a deft hand when it comes to wiring up machinery. She also establishes a reputation for maintaining a cool head in a crisis, courtesy her effort in putting out an accidental electrical fire about 2 months into her new job. 

Half a year goes by and Meredith finds herself talking more directly to the lead scientists amongst the research group. At this point Meredith starts spending her time listening to people much smarter than her babble on about scientific concepts she can parse down to some sort of understanding, and a lot of theoretical maths and proofs that escape her a _little_ bit, and in return she gets to tell them whether or not she’s going to be able to test their brilliant new idea with her current equipment, or whether she needs to start building something from scratch.

Somewhere along the way Meredith realises that she’s actually happy working at NASA, as she helps design equipment to pick up signals coming from deeper and further regions of space. Her continually growing pile of mixtapes for Peter help her to hold on to hope that somewhere amongst the noise of the universe being picked up by the equipment there might be a flicker of something that represents extra-terrestrial life.

 

*****

 

About five years into her job at the Goddard Space Flight Centre, Meredith starts attending scientific conferences to help present the findings of a side project she helped run on interstellar communication arrays (theoretically possible, but beyond current technology). She starts off small, giving several poster presentations amongst a whole load of other scientists, some of them studying for a postgraduate degree, others there as part of a research institute like herself. It’s wonderful to talk about space travel and extra-terrestrial life with people who don’t immediately dismiss her every word. (Unlike her relatives, who seem to have decided the best thing to do is ignore the subject completely whenever she’s in the same room as them). 

It’s during a short break between talks at a summer school that Meredith overhears the tail end of an argument which includes the words ‘interstellar travel’. Meredith turns towards the speakers. The argument seems to have been going on for a while, if the irritation on both faces is any indication. Even as she watches, one of the men throws up his hands in a huff and storms off down the corridor, barging past several delegates emerging from one of the lecture theatres. His abrupt departure succeeds in knocking several sheafs of paper out of the other’s hands. Meredith seizes the opportunity this affords and stoops to help gather them up.

“Thank you for the help, Mrs…”

“Meredith Quill. Just Ms, though."

“Erik Selvig. I apologise for the rudeness.”

Meredith shakes her head, passing over the last pieces of paper and her eye is caught by the title of the work. _On the possibility of Eisen-Rosen bridges and traversing a stable wormhole._

The scientist catches her looking and flashes a rueful smile. “My colleague, the esteemed Pr. Tanbark, does not consider certain parts of my proposal worth of funding. It is a shame, it is an interesting proposition, I think.”

Meredith raises and eyebrow at him. “But you do?”

Erik shrugs and gestures expansively, almost sending his papers flying again. “Think of the possibilities. An Einstein-Rosen Bridge - more commonly known as wormholes. Theoretically, one could travel immense distances in the blink of an eye. Sadly, at present, I have both a lack of funding and outside interest to do anything with it. Perhaps in the future, it may become more viable.”

Meredith hmms and pulls out a pen and a small notepad from within her bag. “Well, Erik. Should you ever receive the funding and are in need of any mechanical or engineering assistance, I’d be more than willing to help you out.” Meredith holds out a slip of paper with her current contact address and telephone number on it. “For something like interstellar travel, I wouldn’t need much encouragement.”

Erik looks down at the paper in his hand and favours her with a grateful, if somewhat bemused smile. 

“Thank you, Ms. Quill.” 

An announcement over the intercom system announces the beginning of the the next session. Erik holds out a hand. “My cue to depart, I fear. Although brief, it has been a pleasure.”

Meredith takes it. “Likewise, Dr. Selvig. Don’t be afraid to use that number if you need help.”

She takes a step back and turns to head off. Dr. Selvig is not the first person that Meredith has given her contact details to - astrophysics conferences are a wonderful place to meet people searching for life beyond the solar system. She just hopes that one day her own search pans out. 

 


	5. I am the sunlight on ripened grain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter grows up with the Ravagers, starts going on jobs and somehow manages to scrape together enough money to make his own way around the galaxy.
> 
> And then he gets hire to steal an orb from Morag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry about how long this took. But - I did get there eventually, although I'm pretty sure my proofreading was not all that thorough! 
> 
> Also, I claim no actual knowledge of half the planets or species I mention in the text aside from knowing that they exist somewhere in the Marvel universe - but I think they're reasonable choices to use!
> 
> Please enjoy :)

 

The morning after Peter makes the deal with Yondu, the Captain sits him down and gets Peter to describe all the skills Peter’s manage to pick up on the _Eclector_ so far. He then starts filling in the gaps in Peter’s ‘education’ with a speed and thoroughness that makes Peter’s head spin. 

 

Peter guesses Yondu probably wants to keep his end of the bargain - to train Peter up so he can help on jobs - so that Peter doesn’t have any excuse not to keep _his_ end of the bargain. The thought of not returning to Earth ( _to his mom_ ) is a heavy weight to bear, but Peter’s a Ravager now, and he knows that Ravager’s don’t cheat Ravagers. Not if they want to stay amongst the living, anyhow. 

 

The first jobs Peter goes on, he mostly just acts as a distraction for some of the authorities or guards whilst the other Ravagers taking part on the job liberate whatever goods they’ve been tasked to retrieve.

Yondu starts giving him a percentage of the profit from the jobs after the first few, transferring the credits onto a personal chip for Peter. Peter keeps it hidden inside one of the vents on the _Eclector_ where most of the crew don’t bother going. 

 

One time, Peter’s tasked with keeping a look out at a junker’s market on a small planet a couple of jumps away from Xandar. He’s meandering along a row of stalls near the edge of the market when he notices a couple of the local police force starting to throw suspicious looks in the direction Horuz and Slinder had wandered off about 10 minutes ago. 

 

Peter’s eyes dart along the length of the market stalls he’s currently pretending to browse, thinking about what to do. Peter knows Horuz and Slinder need more time to make it back from closing the deal on the goods they’re dropping of - which means that Peter needs to provide a distraction.

 

Peter eyes up some of the other customers around him. There’s one, a Krylorian female, if he’s remembering his crash course in common alien species correctly, over the other side of the row of stalls that seems to be almost ready to make a purchase. Their credit chip is also hanging outta of a very notable purse - Peter’d spotted it earlier when he’d been wandering around, trying to keep in mind Yondu’s lessons about always keeping an eye out for concealed weaponry. 

 

Peter takes a fortifying breath in and sets his spur-of-the-moment plan in motion.

 

He picks the credit chip from woman’s bag with an ease that’s almost alarming, lingering next to her just long enough that she registers him out of the corner of her eye, then wanders back over to the edge of the market. He very carefully doesn’t look at the law enforcement officers whilst he’s doing this, but Peter’s pretty sure he can feel _someone_ watching him. Peter doesn’t hang onto the credit chip long before sliding it into the inside jacket pocket of a slightly scruffy looking Xandarian who’s just entered the market place. It’s about that time that the Krylorian woman discovers their credit chip is missing from her bag. The fuss she kicks up immediately attracts the attention of the two members of the local police force, who descend on the scene with a speed that’s kinda admirable. Accusations start flying and Peter watches the proceedings with interest, trying to affect the air of a casual passerby. He’s not entirely sure how well he does, given that the next accusation is directed at him. 

 

“That boy was lurking around behind me!” the pickpocket victim shrieks - and wow, that was _really_ high pitched. 

 

A heavy hand descends onto his shoulder and Peter looks up into the face of officer number 1 - Peter’s gonna start calling him Feathers, on account of the plumage he’s got surrounding his entire face. The other one, (Orange-face, Peter’s brain decides), crouches down in front of him.

 

“I ain’t got nothing!” Peter protests, quite truthfully. 

 

Orange-face smiles. “Maybe you could just take off your coat for me, little one?”

 

Peter scowls at them all, but makes a big performance of taking off his jacket and handing it over. He even turns his trouser pockets inside out, suddenly very glad that he’d left his mom’s Walkman back on the _Eclector_. Sure enough, the officers find nothing more than a couple of cheap credit chips and two ration bars. 

 

“Sorry about the fuss, kid.” Feathers says, patting him on the head. Peter swats at the hand, trying to act like a sulky child might. “You’re a little small to be wandering around this sort of place on your own - is your family around here somewhere?”

 

Peter’s a little offended at that, and it probably shows on his face, cause Orange-face chuckles at him. 

 

“Yeah, my uncle’s are around here.” Peter says, lying through his teeth. “They told me to stay on this market row cause they had to meet someone and thought I’d be bored if I had to go with them.” Out of the corner of his eye, Peter catches a glimpse of a Ravager red jacket. He holds out his hand imperiously to the officers.

 

“Can I have my jacket back now? They’re probably gonna be back soon.”

 

Feathers hands it over and Peter meanders away, taking care to look a bit sulky and cross. The two officers are now thoroughly occupied with helping the poor pickpocket victim and as such don’t even notice when Horuz and Slider return to the square. Peter sidles up along them and the three of them beat a hasty retreat in the direction of the Horuz’ M-ship. 

 

“Any trouble, Quill?” Horuz asks, once they’re a couple of streets away. 

 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Peter replies, bouncing a little as the adrenaline starts to circulate out of his system.

 

Slider gives him a gentle slap on the back, which is his way of saying ‘well done’. Peter feels a warm glow of pride at the gesture. Sure, this definitely ain’t the sort of career he’d considered during grade school and his mom probably wouldn’t be too happy with him if she knew what he was doing, but given he don’t have much choice about the situation, he’s gonna at least try to do his job well. 

 

****

 

Peter’s thinks he’s probably about 10 the first time Yondu lets him try piloting one of the M-ships. Peter’s already pestered just about every single member of the crew to show him how all the different controls on the ship work, but requests to actually fly one had been met with a resounding no. As it turns out, it’s probably a good thing, seeing as the first time he tries handling an M-ship Peter underestimates the manoeuvrability of the little vessel and ends up sending it tumbling nose over tail before Yondu yanks the control back and straightens out the ship’s trajectory. 

 

Peter honestly thinks that Yondu’s never gonna let him near an M-ship ever again, but instead the Centurian transfers the controls back to Peter and tells him to watch the amount of pressure he puts on the backwards thrusters as opposed to the front. The second time he takes control is better than the first, and it’s not long before Peter’s able to gently steer the M-ship himself without Yondu needing to make course corrections. Peter gets better the more he practices, and soon he finds piloting one of the M-ships almost as easy as breathing.

 

In the meantime, Yondu keeps Peter so busy he scarcely notices the amount of time that’s passing, except by the way he ends up needing new outfits cause he’s outgrown the old ones. Peter learns everything the crew is willing to teach him, which keeps him from thinking too hard about how much he still misses his mom left behind on Earth. He still has her music, at least, having modified her Walkman to run off a Xandarian crystal battery source as soon as he was certain he could do it without breaking the internal wiring on the music player. Peter’d made a backup copy of Awesome Mix Vol.1 as soon as he’d worked out how to hack into the _Eclector’s_ main computer system, and could have easily found some other sort of music player, but there’s something reassuring ‘bout still having the physical reminder of home with him. 

 

He fixes up a pair of blasters, learns to shoot ‘em under Yondu’s watchful eye (and only nearly injures himself a coupla times with them, so he don’t think he’s doing badly).  Yondu’s also the one who teaches him how to handle himself in a fight, and somehow, between the flying lessons and the shooting lessons and the stealing lessons and all the little things in between, Peter thinks he might actually sort have come to respect Yondu. Somewhat. 

 

****

 

Peter’s just finishing up his dinner in what passes as a mess table when he’s tapped on the shoulder by Kraglin. Peter has his concealed knife out and almost tries to stab him before he manages to abort the motion.

 

“Shit. Sorry Kraglin.” Peter mutters, shamefaced. Yondu had told the crew he was testing Peter’s situational awareness for 5 sleep/wake cycles not so long ago, and Peter had spent the entire time fending off random attacks from various members of the crew. 

 

Kraglin’s face is twitching in a way that might mean ‘I find your reaction hilarious’ or ‘I’m pissed and you better watch your back for the next few days.’ Peter can’t really tell with him. 

 

Kraglin coughs suspiciously. “No harm, no foul.” he says, and that’s _definitely_ laughter in his voice.

 

“Shut up.” Peter mutters. “I’m still a little twitchy, alright. I flipped Horuz earlier when he slung his arm over my shoulders.” 

 

Kraglin lets out a short bark of laughter at that. “Only wanted ta tell ya that the Captain wants ya down in the M-ship bay once you’ve finished eatin.”

 

Peter promptly tries to remember if he thinks he’d screwed anything up when he was making repairs on the M-ships yesterday. 

 

“Don’t worry, Quill.” Kraglin says in response to whatever of Peter’s thoughts show on his face. “Captain didn’t seem too pissed.”

 

“That ain’t much of a comfort.” Peter sighs, shoves back from the table and heads over to one of the turbo lifts, waving farewell to Kraglin as he leaves.

 

Peter turns the lever to descend and grips the wire mesh as the lift hurtles downwards, jolting past the different floors. He emerges in the hangar bay and spots the distinctive blue skin and red fin of the Ravager captain standing over by one of the ships. The one Peter’d helped finish up repairing, in fact, but done over with a paint job and a new set of gyroscope engines, if he’s recognising the parts correctly. 

 

Peter approaches, calling a greeting. “There something wrong with what I did?” he asks. Peter’s learnt it’s better to not to try to hide something from Yondu early on, cause he had a knack for getting the truth out in time, and Peter’s less likely to earn a punishment if he’s upfront about the whole thing.

 

“Naw. Ain’t nothing wrong with it I could tell. That ain’t why you’re here.” Yondu pauses slightly, and to Peter’s increasing disbelief, the man almost looks… embarrassed? 

 

“I figured, you’ve been returnin’ a reasonable success rate on the jobs you been on with others, an’ I reckon its about time you tried your hand out on a solo. But for that, you need an ship ta yourself. So. She’s yours.” Yondu says. “Congratulations on makin it five of your Terran years aboard the _Eclector_ without pissin off anyone so bad they decided ta space ya.”

 

Peter is stunned temporarily speechless. He stares at the ship in front of him - the one that he’d learn to fly in, nearly crashed half a dozen times - all done up shiny and refitted. 

 

Then his brain catches up with what Yondu had said. 

 

“Wait, how’d you know it’s been five Terran years?” 

 

Yondu rolls his eyes. “I scanned your planet during the coupla days when we was lurking in orbit. Easy enough to calculate a standard orbit off o’that. Only sensible seeing as there ain’t much known bout Terrans out in most parts of the galaxy and you coulda been the type of species that undergoes a metamorphosis at a certain age or summat.”

 

Peter entertains the brief mental image of himself spinning a giant cocoon, like the moths he used to see out in the farmers fields, and emerging fully grown several months later. That would’ve been _majorly_ cool. Then a far more important thought occurs. “Wait a minute! That means I coulda kept track of when my birthday was this whole time! And Christmas!”

 

The look Yondu favours him tells him quite clearly what he thinks of that particular train of thought. Then he reaches forward to swat at the back of Peter’s head.

 

“Going, I’m going.” Peter yelps and he bounds forwards up the ramp. He pauses briefly as at the entrance hatch and runs a hand over the back portal door in wonder. Then he legs up the ladder into the cockpit. Peter settle himself in the pilot’s chair, brushing his hands over the switches and joysticks. Heavy boot stomps herald Yondu’s arrival and a warm hand settles on his shoulder. 

 

“Go on boy. Let’s take her for a spin. I need ta check you aint’ gonna run her straight into and asteroid or summat.”

 

Peter grins, wild and bright as he flicks on the power. The M-ship hums to life beneath him, the gyroscopes at a bare hint of their full power. Gently Peter eases the ship - _his_ ship - into the hanger airlock, waits the requisite time for the rear to seal and the airlock to depressurise, then guides the M-ship out of the _Eclector_ bay doors and into black beyond them. 

 

Yondu and Peter spend a couple of hours out there in space before Yondu is satisfied that Peter remembers all the lessons he’s drilled into Peter’s head. Finally he turns to the kid and says. “You’re gonna need a name for her, kid. She ain’t just an M-ship anymore, and we need a way to identify you on the subspace radar.”

 

Peter nudges his ship into a spin, feeling the easy way she responds and recalls the gorgeous curve of the nose and flair of her wing tips. The name _Milano_ is on the tip of his tongue _,_ to name the ship after the pretty actress he remembers seeing on tv a few days before he was taken of off Earth, but another name dances in his memory just before the word makes it out of his mouth. Peter turns the word over in his head, and figures that after five years, it might be kinda nice to think of the name without wanting to cry.

 

“Mer… Meredith.” Peter swallows, his mouth a little dry. “I’m gonna call her _Meredith. Mere_ for short.” Cause Peter can’t remember anyone prettier than his mom, and this way other people will know her name, even if they don’t know what it means. 

 

Yondu, to Peter’s eternal gratitude, pretends not to see the way he scrubs at his eyes briefly after he makes the announcement. 

 

“ _Meredith,_ huh?” Yondu stares thoughtfully outta the cockpit screen. “You’ll be the one takin’ care of her, got it? And don’t you think you havin’ a ship means I’m gonna let your scrawny ass out on the high reward solo jobs any time soon. Your current skill, you’ll just end up gettin’ arrested for something and I’ll hafta add your bail money to what you already agreed to pay me.” 

 

Peter splutters in wordless offence. Screw the gratitude. Yondu can go drown himself in a _lake_. 

 

****

 

In the few snatches of downtime Peter has between running jobs for Yondu, he thinks about the deal that the two of them made. Now that he’s a little older, Peter realises exactly how exorbinant the amount of money Yondu’d asked for actually was. With that in mind, Peter pays a visit to the bank the Ravagers use to register their Galactic Standard Units and has several very long, somewhat mind numbing conversations with various members of the institute about investing parts of his savings. It means a large chunk of his income will be out of his immediate access for the foreseeable future, but in about 10 years time Peter ought to have a sizeable return.

 

After that, it’s just a matter of putting all the money aside from what he needs to keep the _Meredith_ flying in various savings and investments, and keep running jobs in the hope he lands a big enough score to pay off his debt.

 

****

 

Peter doesn’t know how other Ravager crews organise things, but on the _Eclector_ there are mixture of ways that a crew member can end up working a job. Some jobs are handed out specifically to certain crew members by Yondu, and if they’re one that require multiple participants then that crew member’ll pick who accompanies them. There’s also a list of unassigned jobs that stays active on the _Eclector’s_ internal network, and claiming one of _those_ jobs is down to a mixture of hierarchy, ability, and, fairly often, wagers, fights and bartering. Peter’s usually pretty good at talking his way onto the jobs he wants by the time he’s in his twenties. 

 

The other way a crew member might run a job is if one of their individual contacts offered it to them. If the crew member was on duty, it had to be cleared by Yondu first, but if the crew member was off-duty, you could pretty much accept any job you wished, but on the proviso that you wouldn’t have any back up if things went south. Peter’s reputation builds over the course of completing his solo jobs once Yondu finally lets him run them, that he fairly consistently receives such offers, particularly those focused on urgent matters of transportation. 

 

The biggest political mess Peter ever lands himself in starts as one of those on-the-side offered jobs. Yondu had docked the _Eclector_ on Contraxia to give the entire crew a rare period off. He’d been in an unusually good mood courtesy of the success and extremely lucrative raiding of several crashed luxury space liners the about 10 cycles previously, and it’s enough to warrant a bit of a reward for the crew.

 

Peter ain’t too fussed about staying around to sample the local… entertainment, truth be told. So he’s still lurking around the _Meredith_ when he gets a telecom call.

 

Peter presses the accept button and smiles cheerfully at the rounded face which appears on the other side. “Balthazar.” he greets.

 

“Quill!” the Xandarin exclaims jovially. “Just the person I was hoping to speak to. I’ve had a rather lucrative retrieval contract come my way, but it’s rather on the time sensitive side. And when it comes to speed, you’re one of the best in the business.”

 

Peter grins. “Flatterer. What’s the subject?”

 

“The Duke of Gramosan wishes for the return of his most precious jewel, his priceless pearl. It was stolen from his palace some two weeks ago by a rouge faction of the Brotherhood of Badoon.

 

Peter blanches. “Oh hell no - are you joking? Do you know what the Badoon do to those who piss them off? I pretty sure trying to steal from them would count!”

 

“The contract offers 50 million units for a successful retrieval.” Balthazar continues smoothly, a sly look in his eyes. 

 

Peter freezes. _That is a hell of a lot of money._

 

“Is it legit?” he asks. “Not that I’m doubting you, but that seems… too good to be true.”

 

“I assure you, the offer is entirely genuine. I’ve already been paid a handsome sum simply to advertise it - the Duke of Gramosan truly wishes for his most precious jewel returned.”

 

Peter leans back in his seat, thinking hard. It’s not as if he’s a stranger to life threatening situations - he is a _Ravager,_ after all. In the end, it’s a private job. If he fails, he’s looking at an unpleasant lifetime in an Badoon prison, or if the judge was feeling particularly vicious, possible death sentence. But. That amount of units is not one which comes around often, and it might actually put Peter in range of the amount he owes Yondu.

 

Peter taps his fingers idly. “Give me a 12 hours to review it, Balthazar.”

 

Balthazar looks relieved. “Knew I could count on you, Quill.”

 

“I ain’t said yes, yet!” Peter exclaims, pointing a finger at his contact on screen. “Send me the details and I’ll look into it.”

 

Seconds later, the blueprints to the mansion appear via in his private message inbox. Peter spends the next few hours calling in a favour or two of his own to verify some of the material whilst piloting the _Meredith_ towards Moord.  He does leave Yondu a delayed message, but is very careful to leave all his obvious Ravager gear stored in an out of the way crate on the _Eclector._ Just in case things go to shit, Peter doesn’t want to take the chance of setting a hoard of angry Badoon on the crew. 

 

The next 2 cycles are spent sneaking into the Badoon mansion, avoiding a truly ludicrous number of guards with far to many blasters and sharp pointy knives for Peter’s liking. Peter reaches the room where the pearl is supposedly stored and discovers, to his utter dismay, that Balthazar had neglected to mention one extremely important detail out of his description of the object. Because apparently, when he’d described the item to be retrieved as Duke Gramosan’s, most precious jewel, his pearl, he’d actually meant the Duke of Gramosan’s most precious jewel, his _daughter_ Pearl. Goddam translators. 

 

Peter crouches down on the plush carpet of an enormous bedroom, and meets the bewildered eyes of the Gramosanian child. 

 

_Balthazar, you little shit, I’m going to murder you, and you will deserve it._

 

“Hi.” Peter says, brightly, because if the kid doesn’t want to come willingly, his job just got a whole lot more tricky. “My name’s Peter. Are you Pearl?”

 

Warily, the kid nods. And hells, she can’t be more than about six, and looks far too scared. 

 

Peter holds out a hand in greeting. “Your dad sent me to get you out of here. I bet you want to go back to Gramosan, right?”

 

The kid’s eyes go wide. “Really?” she asks, reaching out and grasping his hand with both of hers, her fingers barely reaching across his palm. “Really, truly?”

 

“Ravager’s promise. We don’t break our word on them ‘less we want our captain to yell at us.”

 

A hesitant smile breaks out across her face. She peers over his shoulder in the direction of the door and then whispers, “I asked the people outside if I could see daddy lots of times, but they kept saying no and got awful mad.”

 

“Well, that wasn’t very nice of them, now was was it? Luckily,” Peter winks exaggeratedly at her, making Pearl giggle, “I’m here to help you get around those pesky lot. They didn’t even see me come in.”

 

Pearl looks wonderingly happy for a breathtaking second, but then her face drops again. “Can’t get out.” she says mournfully. “I tried that once, but they didn’t like it so they gave me a weird necklace.”

 

She tugs down the high neck of her shirt to show him. Peter sees the collar and has the sudden deep, visceral desire to shoot every single Badoon he comes across on the way back. 

 

“Ok kiddo. No worries. Fortunately for you, we Ravagers have a coupl’a tricks up our sleeves.”

 

Peter is so very, very glad that he’d had such an insatiable curious streak as a kid, because he’d found a couple of old slave collars buried in the an old crate on the _Eclector_ and him and Yondu had spend several therapeutic afternoons learning to disarm and dismantle the damn things. 

 

Peter glances at the countdown he set on his wristband, mentally sets himself a time limit to finish disarming the collar, then pulls out his lock pick set and gets to work. Carefully he inserts a series of thin metallic strips into the internal mechanisms to loop out the alarm mechanism. Peter moves on and disarms the shock charge first, then undoes the locking mechanism. The collar falls away with a satisfying thunk.

 

Pearl wraps her hands around her bare neck in wonder, then flings herself forwards to wrap him in a hug that causes Peter to rock back slightly in surprise. Gingerly he wraps an arm around the kid, not wanting to deny her some much needed comfort. Peter’s aware that the longer they stay here, the more likely it is that he gets discovered, so he pulls away and stands back up.

 

“What do you say we get out of here?”

 

Pearl nods in agreement and Peter turns to the overly ornate door.

 

“I need you to stay right behind me, alright? My ship is hidden just outside of the grounds, but we need to get there first, you got that?”

 

Peter and Pearl make it all the way out of the mansion and onto the grounds before the alarm is raised, at which point Peter hauls them both into a bush that kinda reminds Peter of conifer hedges back on Terra, except for the fact that its leaves are bright blue.

 

Judging by the increasing number of heavily armoured Badoon he can see through the virulent foliage, he doubts the two of them can make it back to the _Meredith_ undetected. Time for plan B, then.

 

Peter quietly gets Pearl to hang onto his front, her small arms wrapped gently around his neck. 

 

“Keep your head buried in my jacket, ok?” Peter asks, feeling her head move up and down in response. Peter gets to his feet, waits until the next group of patrolling Badoon disappears down a path, and takes great pleasure in activating the timed charge he’d planted earlier. Bursting out of the shrubbery, he heads for the outer walls at a flat out sprint. He’s spotted with several hundred metres to go, and almost immediately Peter has to dodge sideways to avoid a blaster shot. 

 

 _Come on,_ he thinks, lungs burning as he slides down a grassy bank, righting himself and continuing his desperate charge towards the edge of the property line. 

 

It’s with no small amount of satisfaction that in the next instant, large parts of grounds surrounding the palace go up in deafening explosions of rock and dirt.

 

The Badoon chasing him stumble in the aftershock, enrages shrieks filling the air. It gives Peter just enough time to activate his rocket thrusters and propel himself and Pearl over the chrome and brick wall. In his haste, he realises he’s misjudged where he’s jumped to, and has to make an awkward twist in midair to stop Pearl landing underneath him directly on top of the _Meredith._  

 

“Open!” Peter yells, and miracles of miracles, the voice lock to the cockpit recognises him first time and pops open.

 

Peter lands on his back somewhat ungracefully into the cockpit, Pearl still clutching tight to his jacket. Peter’d left the _Meredith_ in stealth mode, rather than fully powered down, so all he has to do is haul on the joystick and the M-ship blasts towards the sky. Peter hastily straps Pearl into the copilot seat, warns her not to touch any of the controls, then sets the nose of the _Meredith_ upwards and pushes his ship as hard as it’ll go. Even with the g-force dampeners active, their ascent is fast enough to cause a dip in his stomach. As soon as he’s clear of Moord’s atmosphere, Peter plots a course designed to shake off any pursuers.

 

As soon as that’s sorted, he glances over at Pearl, to judge how the kid’s holding up.

 

It looks like he needn’t have worried. The girl is leaning forwards as far as the straps on the seat will allow her, staring in amazement at the fluorescent colours of the stellar nebular they’re travelling through. 

 

“It’s so pretty.” Pearl whispers, her dark eyes wide and wondering.

 

Peter grins. “Yeah. I think so too.”

 

 

****

 

Unbelievably, Peter and Pearl manage to return to Gramosan without any major mishaps. Peter was honestly expecting the other shoe to drop the whole journey back, but the Badoon don’t appear to have been able to track them. The reunion of Pearl with her dad, the Duke of Gramosan is ridiculously heartwarming, and Peter has to remind himself several times that it would be an _extremely_ bad idea to try say as much.

 

He’s a little surprised that the Duke offers him a place to amongst his personal guard, but fortunately Yondu’s managed to drill enough business transaction etiquette into his head that he refuses without causing affront. Too much, anyway. 

 

From Gramosan, it’s only a short hop over to the planet where his bank is set up, so Peter decides to make the stop in person to transfer his credits and check up on his savings at the same time.

 

Seated in a small private booth just past the main reception, Peter sends off the ten percent cut to Yondu’s private account and then transfers the payment from the job to his standard account. Carefully, he runs through a few sums of the current state of his investments and savings out of habit, and does a double take when the number comes through. Peter stares at the total sum, just slightly larger than half a billion units. Most importantly, the sum that’s just slightly larger than the number that was written down on a piece of paper around twenty years ago. 

 

Peter can’t quite believe he’s actually done it. Sure, this is going to leave him with barely anything left in his various accounts. It might be more sensible to pull a few more jobs, get a bit more cash to keep him going, but Peter is filled with the sudden feeling that if he doesn’t split now, he’ll find excuse after excuse to hang around Ravagers. 

 

Peter twists around in his seat and attracts the attention of one of the attendants. “What do I have to do to transfer almost all of my money to a payment chip?” he asks. 

 

“One moment please.”  The receptionist types on her handheld monitor briefly, her eyes flicking across the screen as she reads the documentation. “Would the monetary transfer to the chip be intended as a personal store, or as a payment to an external party?”

 

“Er. External payment.”

 

“And would the amount be in excess of 10 million units?”

 

Peter nods. “Yes. Quite a bit more, actually.”

 

The accountant’s smile doesn’t once falter. “In that case there will be a small amount of paperwork to file before the transfer can be made, just to ensure that this is all above board and no later misunderstandings  with the nature of the transaction arise.”

 

In other words, Peter thinks, the bank doesn’t want any costumers who loose their chip trying to blame the bank for their own stupid mistakes. Which, fair enough. The paperwork all told, takes less than 20 minutes, at which point one of the senior managers arrives with the secure credit chip. 

 

Peter takes the chip, swipes it against his personal credit reader to confirm the amount registered and slips the metallic chip into an internal pocket of his jacket with a nod of thanks. 

 

Peter catches the slight twitch of discomfort on the bank manager’s face as he turns to leave and he pauses, quirking an eyebrow at the man.

 

The manager hesitates slightly, and then says. “Might I hope that this is not the end of our working relationship?”

 

Peter grins. “Naw, I’ve just got a deal to settle. I don’t intend to permanently close down my accounts with you for good.”

 

Peter waves farewell and exits the bank, strolling back towards his ship, keeping his gait steady but constantly scanning his surrounding for any potential trouble. The last thing he wants at this stage is to loose his credit chip in some pointless street fight. It’s with a sigh of relief that he seals the _Meredith’s_ outside door and starts up the engines, gently propelling his M-ship away of the spaceport and out of the planet’s atmosphere. 

 

Peter sets the autopilot on the _Meredith’s_ systems to navigate to the nearest hyper jump point to where he’d left the _Eclector._ Peter stares absently out of the cockpit as stars blur into brilliant white streaks along with  occasional flashes of magenta and turquoise nebulas. 

 

It’s not fully sunk in yet, that Peter’s actually carrying the credit chip that can open up a future un beholden to the Ravagers. Reflectively he pats the front of his jacket, reassuring himself that the slim metallic chip is still securely held within its interior pocket. 

 

Speaking of opening up his future… Peter stands and hurries to the part of the _Meredith_ which functions as his bedroom and kicks one of the small metal panels near the foot of his bed. It pops open with a faint click and Peter reaches inside the hidden compartment to withdraw his mom’s rucksack, carefully looked after and occasionally repaired in the twenty odd years he’s had it. Peter fumbles the zipper, but opens it and extracts an old astronomy textbook. The spine is worn and cracked, and Peter flips through the pages with a nostalgic smile, tracing a finger over the untidy annotations he’d started writing next to the descriptions of certain constellations and star systems.

 

_Two planets around this star system inhabited. Residents kinda remind me of stick insects, if they were 6 feet tall and lived at the NORTH FRIGGIN POLE._

 

Peter smiles, remembering the trip that particular moon system vividly. Then he withdraws the small slip of paper which has his contract with Yondu written on it. The biro pen has faded somewhat over the years, but the writing is still clearly visible. 

 

Adding it to his inside pocket, Peter returns to the controls of the _Meredith_ just in time to exit the hyperspace jump and and guide his ship back towards the _Eclector_. 

 

Peter docks the _Meredith_ inside the _Eclector’s_ main hangar and waits for the crew to return from their various… activities. Some of them are milling around, and he exchanges casual greetings with a few, by which he discovers that Yondu probably won’t be back ’till later that evening.

 

With little else to do, Peter sets about clearing out some of the junk that’s accumulated in the _Meredith_ over the years, which conveniently places him in a position to keep an eye on the outer hanger doors and Yondu’s M-ship.

 

He still manages to get engrossed enough in sorting through a box of spare parts that he misses Yondu’s arrival, but fortunately for him, Yondu must have spotted that the _Meredith_ had returned, and seeks him out. 

 

“Didn’t spot ya down planetside, kid.” Yondu says, somewhat suspicously.

 

“That hurts. If ya must know, I was running a job. Transferred the credits over already.”

 

Peter fiddles with a busted power wrench briefly before forging on, determined.

 

“Although… Mind if I speak with you and Kraglin a moment?”

 

Yondu looks him up and down, eyes narrowed. “You didn’t get yourself inta trouble, did ya.”

 

Peter huffs. “What’s with the doubt? I ain’t 14 anymore. I don’t always find trouble.”

 

“Only mostly.” Kraglin announces, appearing behind Peter and giving him a friendly punch to the arm.

 

“Communications cabin, then.” Yondu says, and the three of them exit the _Meredith,_ pausing long enough to allow Peter to seal up the gangway, and then they make their way through the tangle of walkways and stairs to the communications room.

 

Peter closes the door behind them, then withdraws the two items from the inside of his maroon leather jacket. The first is a slip of paper, decades old, with several short paragraphs and three faded signatures on it. The second is a credit chip. In front of him, he sees Yondu go suddenly very still, and the mood sobers abruptly.

 

Peter runs his finger along the outside edge of the piece of paper, his mouth slightly dry. “You remember the agreement we both signed, way back when I first got picked up?” he says.

 

Yondu nods, slowly. “Unlikely to forget it, amount of hassle you gave me before you signed it.”

 

Peter smiles faintly, then holds out the credit chip. “That last job I pulled tipped my balance over the stated amount.”

 

Yondu reaches out to take the chip, and Peter is almost certain that there’s the slightest moment of hesitation before the Ravager curls his gnarly fingers around it.

 

Yondu slides the chip into an automatic reader. From in the corner, Kraglin shifts and moves next to his captain to verify the amount recorded on it. He lets out a surprised whistle when the total flashes up. 

 

“Well whadya know.” Kraglin murmurs. 

 

There are a few more minutes of somewhat awkward silence as the reader finishes its verifications and starts the balance transfer. Yondu’s eyes are inscrutable as usual, and Peter _really_ wishes the guy would say something. He’s not even acknowledged if the deal’s completed or not.

 

As it turns out, Kraglin is the one to break the tension. He meets Peter’s eyes, then holds out a hand, palm up. Peter reaches out and grasps Kraglin’s forearm, Kraglin returning the grip as he speaks the words that signify the acceptance of the deal.

 

“Accordin’ ta the duty required of me as actin’ witness, I do declare the secondary clause of the deal written here.” Kraglin breaks to hold up the bit of paper, and Peter hadn’t even notice him taking it _oops._ “to be fulfilled on the part of Peter Quill.”

 

“Your declaration is noted and recorded.” Peter replies.

 

Kraglin breaks the grip on Peter’s arm and holds out his arm to Yondu, who takes it in the same manner as Peter just had.

 

“Provided he honours the primary cause, to not return to his home planet, Terra, I hold Yondu Udonta to fulfil his primary clause, namely that he allow Peter Quill to act as an independent agent, un beholden to the Ravager faction.”

 

Yondu nods once. “Your declaration is noted and recorded.”

 

Then he offers his arm to Peter, who takes it with a grip that he pretends isn’t shaking ever so slightly.

 

“The deal is complete, and I appreciate doin’ business with ya.” Yondu concludes.

 

Peter nods, utterly wordless.

 

There’s a brief pause. Yondu’s face softens slightly. “Come on, brat. Ya need ta finish the damn thing off.”

 

Peter swallows. “Then I’ll take my leave.” he finished, and makes as if to let go of Yondu’s arm, but to his utter surprise and bewilderment, he’s tugged forwards into a one armed embrace.

 

Peter stands frozen in shock before he wraps his own arms back around Yondu, the familiar scent of engine oil and worn leather filling his nose. He’s not been held by Yondu since he was little and had gotten freaked by a journey around the outskirts of an exploding nebula.

 

Eventually Yondu pushes Peter back, the set of his face clearly warning against any mention of what just happened.

 

“Right, Quill. You best be getting your stuff in gear and gettin’ off of ma ship.”

 

Peter smothers a grin. Never one for sentiment, like hell.

 

“Aye sir!” he replies, then darts down the corridor, Yondu’s outraged yells about _brats that don’t show any respect till they’re leaving_ echoing after him. 

 

****

 

Peter’s farewell is about as messy as he’d expected, with most of the crew deciding that drinking was in order, and as a result it’s a group of exceedingly rowdy Ravagers which see him off. There are various calls of congratulations, some teasing, but Peter can’t help but notice that its a lot less vicious than he’s usually accustomed to. 

 

“I expect to be hearing from you, ya got me, Quill? Can’t have you screwing up and givin’ us Ravagers a bad name, now.” Yondu calls, right as Peter’s closing the bulkhead doors.

 

Peter shakes his head in mild bemusement. He realises, quite suddenly, that he’s actually gonna be missed when he leaves, and ain’t that something. Guess he musta grown on them in the 20 odd years he’s been aboard the _Eclector._

 

Peter boards the _Meredith,_ starts the engines and moves out of the docking bay. He stares out the cockpit screen, the wide expanse of space open and beckoning. A grin spreads across his face and Peter nudges the _Meredith_ forwards, accelerating steadily until the stars are nothing more than streaks blurring past his windscreen. 

 

****

 

Peter spends the next few years piloting from one end of the galaxy to the other, taking on jobs when and where he needs them - often search and recover jobs, sometimes transporting goods for folks who either don’t trust the standard shipment companies or need something moving with a bit more speed. Peter likes those jobs, for the simple reason that it gives him an valid excuse to push the _Meredith_ to her limit, often times using gravity assists around black holes or suns to aid him in getting from one jump point to another. 

 

He’s pretty sure he holds the current record for the fastest record for the time taken to get from Xandar to Arcturus IV. That particular job had earned him a nice lump sum for the delivery, and the faces of the recipient Arcturan when he’d arrived a full three galactic days earlier than they’d possibly anticipated had been _spectacular_. 

 

He also discovers that Yondu wasn’t actually kidding when he’d told Peter to call him. Apparently Yondu’s idea of ‘worrying about him’ translates to Yondu putting a freakin’ bounty on Peter’s head for his return to the _Eclector_. 

 

The first Peter knows about it is when two big goons try to jump him in a bar on Ciegrim-7. Peter manages to knock one of them out and lose the other by escaping onto the rooftops.  He returns to the _Meredith_ with the intention of slipping away quietly and then investigating the ‘black-net’ to try to work out who he might have pissed off recently, but that plan gets scuppered when he’s fired upon almost as soon as he leaves the space port. The shot misses, but Peter figures he can at least try to talk his way out semi-peacefully.

 

Peter hails the other ship, and is fairly surprised when they actually pick up. The view screen lights up to reveals two Shi’ar bounty hunters at the controls of the other ship.

 

_Crap._

 

“Look, guys,” Peter says, “I’m sure whatever offences I’ve caused you can be sorted out if we just talk about it.”

 

“I fear you misunderstand us. This is simply a business matter.” the primary pilot pulls up a small datafile onto the view screen. “Peter Quill. Terran. Bounty for retrieval, 25000 credits on delivery to Yondu Udonta.”

 

Peter stares. That absolute asshole. “Ok. So. I know that guy, and I’m pretty sure that he didn’t mean to..”

 

The Shi’ar cut off his words with another plasma shot that Peter narrowly avoids. Wheeling _Meredith_ around, Peter jumps several systems over, then hides her behind one of the many, many, pieces of asteroid in the debris field surrounding the brown dwarf at the centre of the planetary ring. He reckons he’s got at least a few ticks before the idjits following him manage to get their ship around to jump, and he intends to make good use of them.

 

Swiping through his list of contacts, he taps next to Yondu’s name. There’s a small click as the other end connects, and Peter barely confirms that Yondu is the one who’s actually picked up before he starts talking.

 

“What the hell, Yondu!”

 

Yondu smiles, showing all of his teeth. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t our favourite Terran.”

 

“Favourite my ass.” Peter replies. “Only Terran more like. And I ain’t yours in the first place! So for that matter why the hell have gone and put a bounty on my head?”

 

Yondu has the audacity to smile at him. “I did say to keep in touch when you first sailed off out inta the star ways, didn’t I?”

 

Peter huffs. “I’ve been out by Ciegrim-7 on a long haul job, just cause I ain’t had a chance to check in for a coupla months doesn’t mean you need to start sending people to retrieve me like a goddam runaway!”

 

Yondu shrugs expansively. “Bounty’s only valid if you’re returned alive. Consider it a training run for when someone else inevitably goes after you.”

 

Peter splutters wordlessly for a moment. “Consider me trained, Yondu! Just cancel the damn thing!”

 

Yondu taps a finger against his chin thoughtfully. “Tell you what, Quill, you make it back to the _Eclector_ under your own steam, and I’ll recall the bounty.”

 

Peter opens his mouth to tell Yondu exactly what he thinks of that deal when the warning sensors in the _Meredith_ beep. Peter twitches the controls just in time to manoeuvre the nose of his ship out of the way of an EMP shot. 

 

Peter starts swearing as he dodges a second shot. He can feel Yondu smirking at him from the screen and his mouth starts running at the person responsible for his current predicament.

 

“Take a walk outta an airlock, Yondu.” he yells. “I don’t even know where in the blasted galaxy the _Eclector_ is!”

 

Just before the call cuts he sees Yondu start laughing.

 

****

 

Peter makes it back to the _Eclector_ about 4 galaxy standard days later, running off of about 4 hours of sleep and more than a little manic desperation. True to his word, Yondu cancels the bounty and Peter spends a full wake _and_ sleep cycle passed out in one of the shared Ravager sleeping spaces. When he wakes up, Peter joins a couple of Ravagers on a joint raid before heading on his separate way once again.

 

****

 

Peter thinks it’s probably been about 24, 25 years since he’d been abducted from Earth and for the most part, he’s having the time of his life. It’s not as easy making a living as it was when he was aboard the _Eclector_ , but Peter wouldn’t give up the freedom he’s currently got for a little bit more comfort. He doesn’t do too badly most of the time, and the credits in his savings account grows fairly steadily.

 

He sleeps around a bit, but never finds anyone he likes enough to consider settling down somewhere permanently. Maybe that’ll change later, but for now, he has enough to worry about running jobs and dodging the bounty hunters Yondu sees fit to dump on his tail every so often. 

 

Besides, Peter’s still got his mum’s music to keep him company, and an entire galaxy to explore. 

 

And then he gets hired to recover an orb from Morag. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated, and if anyone spots any typos/grammar missteps please let me know!


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